[I've always loved dogs more than babies.]
I'm an unabashed dog lover. When I see one, my heart leaps. I get younger. My mind quiets. My instinct is to nuzzle the dog. To let the dog nuzzle me. I know not all dogs are people-lovers, as all people are not dog-lovers. But it doesn't matter. I turn to mush. Dog putty. I want to curl up in a ball on the floor, surrounded by fur and paws and dog saliva and not communicate with people. I know this sounds disgusting to non-dog lovers, but it's how I feel. Give me a yellow tennis ball and a chocolate lab and I'll be out of your hair for hours. My affection for dogs is pure and addictive. I'm like a boy at a monster movie, cupping a supersize Coke, guzzling and burping. No need to come up for air. In the presence of dogs, I boil down to my purest self. Most four-legged animals make me feel this way. I wish I could say the same for babies. Babies and I operate on a different level. My insides don't turn to apple sauce and cherry cobbler in the company of babies. It's an honest admission from a pregnant woman. I'd rather watch a two-hour Discovery Channel documentary on the mating habits of otters than tune into some TLC reality show about 25 screaming kids and their tummy-tucked mother.